


Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

by orphan_account



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, New Year's Eve, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:43:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's New Year's Eve, Lewis is in contemplative mood, and Hathaway's being... well, <i>Hathaway</i>.  Can be read as pre-slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

Innocent had refused to take "no" for an answer.

"I don't care, Lewis. You've either worked or been on call for New Year's Eve every year since you got here. Hathaway too. He deserves to have the night off, even if you don't care whether you do or not - and..."

At this point Innocent gave an exasperated sigh, and from her expression it was clear that it was a monumental effort to not roll her eyes.

"... and he's made it clear that he's not even contemplating taking the evening off unless you do."

_If you go, I go_

The words slid through his mind, the memory of the conversation coming unbidden, along with all the possibilities that it might have implied.

He looked at Innocent, and surrendered to the inevitable.

"Ma'am."

 

\--------------------

 

Back in the office, Lewis hid a smile as he noticed that Hathaway was very carefully not letting himself be caught avoiding eye contact.

"So, Sergeant, have you got plans for New Year's Eve, then? A gig with the band?"

"We don't really play the sort of music that people want to celebrate to, Sir."

"So, no plans then?"

"My social life is an open book to you, Sir," said Hathaway, dry as a bone, and looking pointedly back at his screen.

Lewis took a deep breath and tried to work out what feathers he'd ruffled this time. He'd asked about the band, then... oh, he'd assumed that Hathaway didn't have a date. He wasn't convinced he would have had a better reaction if he'd asked if he had, either.

"Oh, hell, man, stop being so bloody touchy. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come over to mine for New Year's, but if you'd rather I kept meself out of your _social_ life..."

Lewis almost felt bad about poking at Hathaway's over-developed guilt complex. Clearly something or someone in Hathaway's past had made him so protective of his private life, but the lad really needed to start trusting that Lewis wasn't whoever or whatever it was that had hurt him before, needed to learn to stop taking offence where it was obvious none was intended.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to imply..."

Lewis took pity.

"That's a yes then?"

Hathaway stopped stumbling out an apology, dropped his head, took a breath, and huffed out what might have been a small and very self-deprecating laugh. He looked up, looked Lewis in the eye.

"Yes, Sir, that's a yes. And - thank you, Sir."

 

\--------------------

 

Hathaway arrived at Lewis' flat at nine on the dot, handing Lewis a chilled bottle of champagne as he crossed the threshold. Lewis had insisted that it was as informal an evening as possible, and they'd slumped on the sofa, drinking beer, snacking on crisps, chatting about nothing.

It was... comfortable. That was the right word for it, Lewis decided. He tried not to devote too much time to thinking about just why he was so comfortable, he and Hathaway slouched against each other like this. They'd always been in each other's personal space, right from the early days. Given they were both quite private (and wasn't that just the understatement of the year), perhaps he should have been surprised by that. But he never had been. They'd just seemed to... fit.

They'd knocked back a few more beers by the time they'd ended up watching Jools Holland on the telly. Hathaway was clearly enjoying explaining who some of the newer and more obscure artists were; Lewis enthused about some of the older singers.

"I was dancing to this lot before you were born, lad!"

"I had no idea you were a dancer, Sir."

"What did I say about calling me Sir tonight, Hathaway?"

Hathaway rolled his head so that he was looking straight up at Lewis through his eyelashes.

"I couldn't possibly consider myself on first name terms with someone who defaults to using my surname. Sir," he deadpanned.

Lewis, sitting up straighter and thus with a slight height advantage for once, looked down at Hathaway. At _James_. James, in his tight tee shirt and loose jeans, all eyes and cheekbones from this angle. Lewis tilted his head slightly, James now a long, lean expanse of torso and legs.

"Aye, alright, James."

"Thank you Robbie," and look at that, a proper smile, enough to light up a room.

It was getting close to midnight, so Lewis levered himself off the sofa to go fetch the champagne. The scenes on the telly changed to a shot of Big Ben, the noise of the crowd quieting just a little in anticipation, as the bells started playing the Westminster Chimes.

Lewis paused, lost in thought.

_That last New Year they spent together, they'd spent in London. They hadn't know it was their last New Year at the time, of course, they were just making the most of a rare opportunity. The kids were both away, and Lyn had suggested they treat themselves to a night away. They'd booked a decent hotel - not too posh, but nice - and spent hours standing on the Embankment waiting for the fireworks. It had been OK, really, standing and waiting as the crowds gathered around them, they'd laughed and joked and wrapped their arms around each other and acted like a couple of teenagers. They counted down the last ten seconds with the crowds, and cheered and kissed as the fireworks started. Worth standing around for a couple of hours, as the sky exploded in colour right in front of them. They'd wandered back to the hotel slowly, where they'd drunk champagne and - in Val's words - seen the New Year in with a bang._

Lewis was pulled back to reality by the sound of Big Ben chiming, and rumble of Hathaway's voice right next to him. He looked up and realised Hathaway had stood up, and was speaking to him, hand extended.

"Robbie? Sir?"

Lewis had rarely heard him sound so uncertain.

"James?"

"Uh, Happy New Year, Sir."

By the tone of his voice, and the way his hand wavered awkwardly, it wasn't the first time he'd said it.

"Happy New Year, James."

It must have been the beer; Lewis reached out, and eschewing the extended hand, pulled Hathaway - _James_ \- into a brief hug. He suppressed a chuckle as James stood stock still for a second, before awkwardly putting his arms around his boss's shoulders. Lewis patted him on the back, before pulling back.

"I'll..." He cleared his throat, "I'll go get the champagne."

In the kitchen, Lewis took a minute to pull himself together. _Haunted by ghosts of New Years past, you daft old sod_. He blew his nose, shook himself to clear his head, and grabbed the bottle and wine glasses. He turned to find James standing in the kitchen doorway, somehow managing to both loom and slouch at the same time.

"Bloody hell man! Where did you come from?"

"I have ninja skills. Mandatory lessons at the seminary."

"Ha bloody ha."

"I... didn't mean to intrude just now."

"What? No," Lewis held up a hand to forestall the response he could see forming, "No, you didn't intrude. Now, c'mon, champagne."

He shooed James back into the living room.

Once the champagne was poured, they both slumped back onto the sofa. Or rather, Lewis slumped, but he noticed that James was more... distant. Closed-off.

Lewis sighed. As much as he felt for the bloke - and right now he didn't want to examine too closely exactly what it was he felt, he just knew _that_ he felt, something thrilling and terrifying in equal measure - James could be a right pain in the backside at times. Sometimes Lewis felt he was walking on eggshells around the lad. Clearly James felt that he'd pushed at a boundary or something, and that Lewis had pushed him back.

Lewis slouched down on the sofa a bit more, deliberately opening up his body language, deliberately leaning into James.

"The thing is... well, since Val... well."

He ground to a halt, not quite sure how to say what came next. Not quite sure what came next. He noticed, though, that James had shifted slightly, responding to Lewis' own changed posture, and was now looking, if not at him, then in his general direction. It was enough of a positive sign that he decided to plough on. He cleared his throat, and focussed on forming a coherent sentence.

"This is the first New Year's Eve since Val died that I haven't been working or on call. The first one I've actually celebrated. It just caught me off-guard, for a moment, remembering."

"So I was intruding," James voice was quiet, contemplative, not accusatory.

"No. I said you weren't, and I meant it. It was a good memory, but... I don't want to be maudlin tonight. It's good, to be celebrating again. To have someone to celebrate with."

He looked at James, smiling, and - _blame the alcohol again, Robbie, it's your only excuse_ \- put his hand on James' leg, just above the knee.

"So, thank you, James, for stopping an old fool from getting lost in the past."

He gave James' leg a quick squeeze, then leant forward to pick up the bottle.

"Now, have some more champagne, and tell me who this is," he gestured with the bottle at the gaudily dressed singer on the telly, "making that bloody racket. Sounds like someone strangling a cat."

 

\--------------------

 

It was a couple of hours later when they finally called it a night. Lewis dug out a pillow and spare duvet, making up the sofa while James was in the bathroom. He was heading to the bedroom when James emerged, and they both stopped, standing just a little too close, in the hall.

"I've made up the sofa. Feel free to have a lie-in, I will be. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen when you do get up."

"Thanks. Um, Robbie," he added as Lewis was turning away, "really, thank you."

This time it was Lewis who, caught off guard, stood stock still for a moment as he was enveloped in a slightly awkward, rather gangly hug. He just had time to reciprocate before James was pulling away, and stumbling down the hall to the living room.

Lewis found himself smiling as he made his way to bed.

_Progress._


End file.
